


I Fight Because I Have To

by GMTYUniverse



Category: Dunkirk (2017), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Desperation, Dunkirk Au, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Mild description of violence (it's war), Minor Character Death (soldiers - it's war), Period-Typical Homophobia, Survival, World War II, like - second base smut, mutual handjobs is what i mean, very mild smut, yeah i'm not impressed with myself either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 08:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13520550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GMTYUniverse/pseuds/GMTYUniverse
Summary: "Louis has lived in Dunkirk for his entire life. He knows the dunes better than anyone, loves to sit there and watch the tide come and go. Or well, he used to love and watch it. Now that war has taken over even the outskirts of France – because that’s how he views his little village on the coast – he doesn’t find sitting still and watching all that pleasant anymore.Soldiers get lonely. Louis knows. In return for aiding them in their loneliness, he gets stories and information. He picks up some English. He plots. Because he can feel in his bones that this is only the beginning of wartime. He’s heard stories from his grandparents, and he’s determined to escape it. He’s determined to help his family escape. He won’t allow his mother, and his little sisters to fall victim to whatever the war effort will ask of them."A Dunkirk AU where Louis is Gibson, and Alex is, well, Alex. Except nobody drowns.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lonelymisfit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelymisfit/gifts).



> I hope I did it justice!! 
> 
> I loved all your prompts but decided to stick with the first one. Also I know there's a glaring absence of boat sex, I tried writing it in but then all that kept popping through my head was 'How in the hell are they ever going to find a place where they can privately fuck the bejesus out of eachother on overly stuffed military/civilian ships or rafts with no actual hold - and frankly, how the hell are they even gonna get it up when they're probably way too scared to get excited' I hope you can forgive me for it, though I'd be happy to write a separate boat sex 'for old time's sake' epilogue extra scene one day haha
> 
> Fic title taken from "Wild Hearts Can't Be Broken" by Pink.

 

**I Fight Because I Have To**

 

Louis has lived in Dunkirk for his entire life. He knows the dunes better than anyone, loves to sit there and watch the tide come and go. Or well, he used to love and watch it. Now that war has taken over even the outskirts of France – because that’s how he views his little village on the coast – he doesn’t find sitting still and watching all that pleasant anymore.

He’s got a big family, his mum has a large brood of children, which means multiple mouths to be fed. And while he knows his mum feels guilty about it, he can see the relief wash over her face everytime he tells her he’ll be out late working and won’t eat at home. She doesn’t know what he’s up to. Doesn’t know he’s trading in secrets, trading in illicit goods – illicit affairs at times.

Soldiers get lonely. Louis knows. In return for aiding them in their loneliness, he gets stories and information. He picks up some English. He plots.

Because he can feel in his bones that this is only the beginning of wartime. He’s heard stories from his grandparents, and he’s determined to escape it. He’s determined to help his family escape. He won’t allow his mother, and his little sisters to fall victim to whatever the war effort will ask of them.

It’s not all that bad, he finds. He likes working in the café that the British soldiers refer to as ‘the pub’. He especially likes that it comes with perks – food, left-over cigarettes, and a drink here and there when the soldiers have had a good day and invite him to join them.

He guesses that it’s their need of camaraderie, of wanting to feel at home even when they’re away from home, that makes them call out to him. Or maybe it’s his blue eyes, framed by long eyelashes, his small waist, wrists and curves. Not that he cares. Louis has long been aware of his attraction towards men. He’s tried to court a girl in the past, wanting to conform to the expectations, but her cheeks were too smooth when he’d planted his lips on them. He could see how she was pretty, beautiful even – but he _still_ didn’t feel an ounce of attraction towards her.

So yes, Louis relishes in the attention he was showered with at the pub. Lately, though, it isn’t all that much fun anymore. The pub is filled with French agitated soldiers, and British disillusion. He’s heard rumours now. The British are leaving them to fight this war alone. That is what it means, though they keep calling it a ‘tactical retreat to regroup’.

Louis isn’t stupid. He might not fully grasp the language, but he knows all about escaping. The fear of failure is universal, so is the fear of loss and death. He’s seen it with his own eyes, and he’s scared.

Because if the British are leaving them, that means things are bad. He’s heard the daily gunfire edging closer, and he’s seen the worried looks on his mum’s face every time French troops pass by their house.

They’re safe, for now – but both Louis and his mum know it’s only temporary. With every day that passes, there’s less jubilance and joy, replaced with desolation, death and loss in the men’s eyes.

He’s stopped using the money he earns at the pub ages ago, instead he saves it and hides it under his bed. He’s accumulated quite a lot, but he’s not sure if it’s enough - not for all of them at least. But that’s okay. Louis is fine with staying behind. He’s a young man. It’s honestly a miracle he hasn’t been called to service yet, anyways. He’s turning 20 soon, and most of his friends have already had to enlist.

When the evacuation order comes from the French government, calling upon citizens to leave Dunkirk and give way to the army, it still catches him by surprise. He’s heard rumblings in the pub, has had a particular handsy soldier tell him that Louis was a beautiful tragedy – that he ‘was too pretty to be caught up in all this incoming ugliness’.

Still, he stumbles his way back home, disoriented with all the sudden barricades that have appeared out of thin air it seems, tanks rolling through the cobblestone streets. They don’t belong in the French coastal town, but maybe in times like these, it’s Louis that doesn’t belong – with no army uniform and no pain permanently etched onto his face, no personal horrors that he’s lived through just yet.

“You’re okay dear, aren’t you?” His mother immediately asks as he closes the door behind him. He shoots her a small smile and nods, before climbing up towards his room and grabbing the yellowed envelope he’s been collecting all his money in.

He hears his sisters shouting down the hallway, and a spike of sadness passes through him as he realises how much he’ll have to miss. He won’t see them for a while – as long as this war will last, and he has a terrible suspicion it’s going to take years. The hatred has seeped into too many veins. He’s seen too much bloodlust, anger, vengeance, bitterness, and pure, unadulterated hatred already reflected in the eyes of soldiers. He’s also seen carelessness, and that scares him the most. The people who seem to have lost empathy along the way.

He supposes that fighting the good fight sometimes leads to people just fighting _a_ fight. It’s a dangerous slippery scale, and Louis is glad he’s managed to avoid it so far. Maybe he’s a coward, but he didn’t ask for any of this. He’s cynical like that. War makes the world go round – it gets money rolling. He refuses to take part in anything hateful. Refuses to kill men who probably are only doing what they’ve been told to do as much as the British and French soldiers have. He’s idealistic like that too – that people are just people, and should love and respect each other more.

Maybe he’s selfish. For not wanting to kill for his country, because it means he could be killed. For wanting people to be more accepting and loving, so that he too one day can be accepted for loving men, not women.

But when he hands his mother the envelope full of cash, and tells her to buy tickets for her and his sisters to leave Dunkirk, he thinks you can be selfish and selfless all at the same time. Selfless for staying behind, selfish for wanting to save his family and not caring about others.

He knows war isn’t black and white. Neither is he. It’s the same with loneliness.

Because just like that, he finds himself in the town he grew up in – all alone. Well, not entirely alone. Louis still has his job, still sleeps in his childhood bed, though the house is now semi-occupied by a bunch of French soldiers who throw him filthy looks every now and again. He isn’t quite sure whether it’s because they’ve guessed his sexuality, or because he didn’t voluntarily enlist for the army and isn’t ‘doing his duty’. Or perhaps it’s envy – that he’s managed to escape that fate so far. Louis is adamant to survive, and as much as he loves his country, he doesn’t trust the chances of Dunkirk – a coastal town when it’s surrounded by German forces. German forces he’s heard the most horrific murmurs about, as to what exactly they do with the enemy. They’re trapped, really.

The knowledge of the inevitability of surrender grates on Louis’ nerves, so he distracts himself by listening to the British soldiers who’ve only just arrived. They’re still a bit naïve – some of them at least, and they seem to truly believe they’re going to liberate France. Their eyes tell a different story once they’ve spent a couple of days caught up in the crossfire.

Still, the illusion of friends and time suits him better than reality. If he ends up snogging a couple of men in the wine cellar, none are the wiser. Wryly, Louis thinks sometimes that perhaps that’s his contribution to the war effort. He’s providing some of the soldiers with some temporary relief. In return, he gets answers to his questions, about both the war and his own identity.

It’s when people start talking about a British evacuation, that reality starts to sink in. The Germans are moving closer every day, and his temporary roommates really turn out to be temporary, as not all of them come back at night. They’re down to four now, out of the original seven. So Louis’ innocent questions become more pointed, seeking out the company of British high-ranked officials – if only just by eavesdropping, to figure out what’s going on.

He doesn’t have a plan really, except that he needs to leave Dunkirk behind before his twentieth birthday. He writes a final letter to his mother, enclosing his latest paycheque, informing her that he’s moving out of Dunkirk – out of the warzone. Perhaps he’s paranoid, but he doesn’t trust the postal services not to check his letter for signs of treason (whether of France or Germany) so he makes sure to keep it as vague as possible.

He goes to the postal office on his day off, greeting some of the older townspeople that he’s known all his life as they go about their day. It’s both comforting and odd to acknowledge that life goes on as usual, even when they’re quite literally in the middle of war. He takes the long route back home, making his way through the dunes. It’s then he realises that he’s been gone too long, almost not recognising the beaches that’s now littered with boats and British troops.

He crouches down when he hears the roaring of bomber jets, hiding behind what little vegetation has so far survived the harsh winds and the stomping of big boots. When he gets up, he notices not all men on the beach are as lucky as he is – they don’t get up again. Louis sits and waits, takes note of where they go to bury the bodies as an idea starts to form in his mind.

He knows it’s not right, what he’s thinking of is essentially desecration, but it _is_ a guaranteed way out of Dunkirk. He doesn’t trust the British to care for the Frenchmen that’ll stay behind, that are helping them wait out their evacuation semi-safely, who’ve thrown up barricades in the streets, who’ve opened their houses up for British men to wash, to eat, to smoke cigarettes.

So Louis doesn’t care about the implications. He surveys the area, and archives the exact spot into his memory, before making his way back home. He’ll need to pack up what little belongings he has, and he’ll have to tell Remi that he won’t be coming back. People go missing every day now, but Louis feels like he owes Remi a semblance of goodbye. The old man has acted as a father figure of sorts, and has graciously always turned a blind eye towards Louis’ preferences of male company. Remi also used to give him an extra tip on busy nights, or some food to share with his sisters. He’s a good man, and Louis wants to respect him for it.

‘Take good care of yourself out there, Louis,’ he says, leaning in to give him a hug after Louis tells him about his plan to leave Dunkirk behind. ‘Don’t let anyone tell you you’re a weak man. You’re strong. You deserve to survive - to make a life for yourself out there.’

He doesn’t cry. At least not where Remi can witness it. When he arrives back at his house, he greets the soldiers there with a stiff nod. He doesn’t tell them it’ll be the last time he sees them if everything works out. They don’t need to know about Louis’ plans, nor would they care if Louis never returns, he supposes.

In his room, a lone tear escapes him, and then another, and another. He cries for his family, for his lost innocence, for his lost youth, for the loss of living a carefree life, the loss of certainty. He cries over lost memories, and the knowledge he’ll probably never return to Dunkirk, to this house, the place where he was born and grew up.

He reckons it’ll be difficult to grapple with, and he wishes there was a way to preserve it all, so he takes one last look around as he tries to imprint the confines of the place where he grew up into his brain. His mum had taken most photos, but she’s left him one family portrait. It’s already turned a bit yellow, but Louis keeps it close to his chest and swears to himself he’ll protect and preserve that photo with everything he has, come hell or high water.

 

* * *

 

 

It's terrifyingly easy, Louis finds, as he quickly makes his way down the dune towards the latest dead body and starts stripping the man of his clothes and switching them for his own. He’s halfway through the process, when bombers hit the beach, but he’s quite sure that they’re going for the trapped soldiers in plain sight – stuck with no way out but the water. It also means no one will be watching what happens with the dead bodies.

So he soldiers on, quite literally, and he’s just about to strap a water bottle to the uniform – which miraculously fits him just fine – when another soldier approaches.

Anxiously, Louis lifts his head and just nods, hoping the man will accept the acknowledgment. When he realises the soldier doesn’t have any water of his own left, he’s quick to share the water bottle still held in his hand. It’s good to show camaraderie, and to gain an ally. He’ll need someone to help him legitimise himself, and get aboard their ships.

The man helps him bury the body of the soldier whose uniform Louis has stolen. Louis suspects the man thinks it’s one of his regiment buddies, as he shoots him a sympathetic look. Louis can work with that, he thinks.

As he observes, he realises that he looks young - more like a schoolboy than a soldier. He’s still innocent, and Louis doubts that he’s had much use of the gun that’s fallen down on the sand. He also looks scared and out of place, a bit like a deer caught in headlights as he suddenly found himself in a foreign land that he’s now being ordered to leave within mere weeks. Or at least, that’d be Louis’ guess from the way the boy seems just a tad unsure in his movements.

He understands the mix of confusion and terror, though. He’s pretty sure that this boy is playing pretend-soldier in a real war as much as he is. The only difference being that Louis is doing it to escape, and the boy in front of him probably had no choice. Was probably drafted, and then shipped to Dunkirk, being told to shoot Nazis and being forced to not just see men die, but to take part in death - to grow up way too fast.

He’s just about to give the boy a small reassuring smile, in hopes of further solidifying their bonding, when he hears the roaring of engines once more as people start shouting to get down.

It’s weird that as soon as he’s lying on the ground, all he can think of is how he and his little sisters used to play hide and seek on this very same beach – surrounded by blues and greens and beiges. Right now though, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to picture that again when even the colours are wrong. Because all he can see is blacks, reds and hints of olive drab.

In a way though, Louis supposes that he’s still playing a form of hide and seek, albeit a version where the stakes are a lot higher. He just hopes he won’t be found out until he’s already made it safe and sound across the Channel.  

He’s still reeling from the noises of war so up close, but he knows he doesn’t have the luxury to recover. When Louis looks up again, he sees that the other soldier is sitting up on the beach – eyes focused on all different army divisions and groups huddling together. Louis doesn’t get their behaviour – lining themselves up for boats that aren’t here yet, whilst placing themselves in direct line of fire for those German airplanes. They’re effectively transforming the entire evacuation area into one big Nazi target practice playground.

He shakes his head, then looks back to the makeshift dock – a breakwater - where most soldiers have piled together in an attempt to get closest to the one ship that’s already docked. He needs to find a way to get on there, but the outfit he’s got on probably won’t take him very far – it doesn’t have any decorations. A sigh escapes him, as he sees the way people are loaded onto the one ship, reminding him of just how little time he’s got to come up with something, anything. The thing is that Louis doesn’t _have_ a plan B. He knows he has limited time and resources, but he _will_ get on that ship - it’s his ticket to safety.

He looks back to where the British soldier is sat, and follows the boy’s gaze. It’s clear by the way he seems so consumed by the dead bodies surrounding them that Louis is right in his assumptions that he’s too innocent for this war. If he had to guess, he’d think the soldier is too shocked to even comprehend how his longing for home will be seen as unwarranted and unwelcomed by other, more experienced army personnel. The boy is staring at a dead man’s body with horrified fascination, but he’s yet to see a form of guilt etched into his face the way he’s seen it on other men visiting the pub. Survivor’s guilt, they call it.

It’s sad, Louis surmises. It’s like they leave the young ones to be rescued last, so everyone can come home equally traumatised and tainted by bloodshed and violence. He doesn’t believe they should be made to feel guilty for wanting to leave behind the bleak and hopeless state that is the fight for Dunkirk.

All that’s left waiting on them here is destruction and death, as demonstrated by the very fact Louis is wearing some dead man’s uniform.

“Hey, Gibson.” Suddenly, the younger boy is speaking and motioning at him – and Louis feels infinitely glad he’d taken a peek at the identifying tags that are now hanging round his neck, as he lifts his head at the name. He follows the boy’s insistent gaze, and it’s then that he hears the sound of sweet relief.

A wet cough.

His ticket to England comes in the form of a man on an abandoned stretcher who’s making soft hackling noises, gurgling out something that Louis has no actual interest in. The man isn’t dead. He’s not actually _dead_ , he’s alive and seems to be choking on air, which means he needs medical attention. Medical attention that he can only be given in one particular place - on board the ship.

Within minutes, Louis finds himself posing as stretch-bearer with the British lad in front to clear the way, shouting at soldiers to let them through. They’re _so_ close, have already made it onto the makeshift dock and the ship’s really coming into view now but it’s also _so_ full, he isn’t sure they’ll make it in time – if there’ll be space.

Then, just before the ship is supposed to leave Dunkirk behind and is whistling angrily at them or so it seems, they’re spotted by the nurse on board. His euphoria is only temporary though, when he realises there’s only space for their patient. Not him, not the other soldier. Apparently it’s a hospital ship only. His way out of Dunkirk is being blocked by a nurse and a captain that are looking particularly cross with the way this final patient is delaying their departure. It’s cruel, to be _so_ close yet so far, but perhaps Louis deserves this.

He did steal a dead man’s uniform, and tried to profit off of another man’s suffering to get himself a place on a ship out of Dunkirk. It’s not exactly what he would call his best behaviour.

On the other hand. He _did_ steal a dead man’s uniform and is now not just posing as a soldier, but also as a soldier posing as a stretcher-bearer or combat medic. He won’t just give up now that he’s already in this deep.

In all the commotion, he lets his eyes rake over the ship’s structure, and spots a porthole. It’s not ideal, and it’s really rather risky, but Louis is an okay swimmer – he’ll live if he doesn’t make the jump. If he does and he breaks something on the way in, that’s fine too. It is a hospital ship after all. He’ll need a better vantage point though, and someone to help him make the jump, so he motions towards his temporary partner in crime and quickly lets himself drop to underneath the barricade.

They’ve just situated themselves on the beams at sealevel and Louis is trying to calculate the exact distance between where he’s seated and where he needs to end up, when the British boy sticks out his hand.

Louis can feel the anxiety ripple over him at the prospect of having to hold a conversation. He could probably say the name Gibson well enough without giving himself away, and he can nod or shake his head, but he can’t _talk_. He also can’t very well not accept the hand of the other soldier – he needs someone to trust and vouch for him once they make it to the British shore.

So, he just gives a small smile and takes the hand, hoping for a miracle.

“I’m Tommy, thanks for pulling me down,” he says, way too loudly for Louis’ liking. They’re effectively hiding – aren’t supposed to be that far down the dock anyways, and he doesn’t want to be found out. Preferably not at all, but definitely at least not before he’s made it onto the ship that’s drifting so close to them, but still too far away for him to reach.

Besides, the silence also provides him with a feeble excuse not to have to talk, so he makes a shushing motion with his arms and hopes it’s enough for now. He guesses the fear of having to speak is visible on his face, and the boy has taken it to be some sort of war trauma. Which – it’s quite sad that a boy his age is able to even _recognise_ war traumas. He shouldn’t have to be equipped to deal with that at all. Not that Louis is really that much older, he supposes.

They’re both stuck in this situation of war though, one they didn’t choose and really can’t control. All he can try to do is make sure he’ll make it out alive. Louis wonders if British soldiers even know how to swim, but he tries to shake himself out of it. His brotherly instinct is playing up and he cannot afford to become distracted by his own saviour complex, and wanting to somehow help Tommy get through it too.

He needs to be selfish and he can’t feel guilty about wanting to save himself first this time. But, he supposes that there’s no harm in helping the younger boy if he can. If he’s in a position of safety already. Then he’ll lend a hand.

Louis feels satisfied at having sorted that out in his brain, and he’s about to try and see if the beams are sturdy enough for him to stand on, maybe pull some rope around – when he hears the roaring of engines once more drowning out terrified screams from the people above them. He looks back at Tommy, who’s leaning sideways so he can watch the sky.

Immediately, Louis leans forward and hauls him back inwards by his shoulders. He wants to curse and scream at the boy, who’s got a dumbfounded expression on his face – as if he doesn’t realise the danger of both getting the two of them caught, or having a bomb explode in front of him.

He’s saved from the urge to speak when they hear the undeniable impact of Stukas hitting the ship. From there on out it’s pandemonium, really. Louis feels a sense of cold dread settle over him as he feels the stamping of boots on the dock reverberate through the beams, and sees soldiers scrambling to jump ship before it sinks.

He could’ve been on that ship. There are thousands of wounded people who _can’t escape_ – that are stuck on a sinking ship that’s going up in flames and is about to be knocked into by the stern that’s coming round.

He sees it then, the flashes of green jumping out, swimming desperately towards where Tommy and him are seated on the beams. Louis doesn’t think, shuts off the million different things running through his mind, and instead immediately leans forward to start helping some of the soldiers onto the structure.

Forget about being selfish, he decides, when you can save someone’s life just by reaching out a hand. He’s safe on this beam, he is. And if anything, these people won’t dare to question him – will be more willing to help him out in exchange down the line. Or at least, he hopes so.

From the corner of his eye, he can see Tommy do the same and he allows the corner of his lips to curl up into a smile for a second. It doesn’t last longer than that one second, because that’s when he realises there’s still a soldier trying to outswim the two parts of the ship that are closing in on each other – the soldier sandwiched between them. He’s looking up at them with green eyes that are full of desperation and fear.

So Louis hooks his legs around the beam he’s sitting on, before lurching forward and wrapping his arm around the soldier’s shoulders and yanks hard. The water and dirt haven’t only stained the soldier’s uniform, but also made it considerably heavier. Louis might be small and curved, but he’s not weak. Still, the man he’s trying to help is definitely taller than he is, more buff than he is – and for a couple of frantic seconds Louis isn’t quite sure whether or not he’ll be able to hold onto him, as multiple scenarios flash through his head. One where this man gets crushed right in front of his eyes, and the other one where Louis falls into the water and gets crushed right alongside with him due to the momentum.

It only makes him more frenzied to hold on, but then he feels someone else pulling on the soldier’s arm, and suddenly he’s within reach to grab for purchase onto the wooden beam himself. He hoists himself up, just in time to hear the sickening grind of the hull against the fallen wood.

Louis looks him over, and he wants to scold himself for the thoughts that pass around in his head. This soldier with brown hair and moss-green eyes has beautiful pink lips that are parted as he’s calming his breath, and there’s water dripping down his jawline into his uniform and – well. He’s just not entirely sure whether he’s breathless from the exhilaration and exertion, or if it’s the bloke that’s taken his breath away. Objectively, he’s probably one of the most beautiful men Louis has ever seen – even if he’s all covered in dirt, grease and water.

The man is staring at him, he realises belatedly, and he’s about to cough and turn away when he registers the sturdy nod directed towards him.

Louis isn’t sure what the gesture means, especially not combined with the weird look he’s giving him. He should be careful, he admonishes himself as he turns away. He’s already French – no need to give them any more reason to see to it that he drowns on the way to England.

Because if there’s one thing Louis is sure of, it’s that he doesn’t really trust the English as far as he can throw them.

It’s only now that they’re seated on the beams with a whole bunch of soldiers, that it dawns on Louis the roaring of enemy jets has stopped. With no more Stukas to worry about for now, he quickly lets his eyes glide over the uniforms of the men that had jumped ship.

They must be higher ranked than he is, because they’d been deemed valuable enough to ride the hospital ship back to England. They also seem… mature, more aged – as if they’d actually had some training prior to their arrival. Though Louis supposes that no training will ever prepare young men for war.

He’s heard one of the captains say once that war is just the natural state of mankind. That the reason and need to fight is innate to men – that it’s a way to create balance.

Louis doesn’t believe that, doesn’t _want_ to believe that. War is an unnecessary evil that hurts the people who didn’t ask for it the most, and the people who did the least. Sometimes he wonders what would happen if the men in power with their big egos declared a war they will never personally take part in and that call to arms would just be ignored by the people on the ground. What if there was just a collective refusal to fight? Refuse to adhere to the chain of command, and reject the need to hurt each other?

He knows full well it’s wishful thinking. And Louis realises, perhaps better than most, how fear of exclusion – not war – is innate to mankind. And he can see it on the faces of these men – how easily fear can turn into hatred, and hatred into violence.

But he doesn’t want to take any part in that process, doesn’t want to contribute to it, doesn’t want to feel accountable for it. He figures within a group, it’s easier to disappear, easier to fit in and make himself invisible in the process. Easier to get access to hitch another ride to England, if he’s seen as part of this division that was allowed to return in the first place.

He overhears Tommy introduce the two of them, and can’t help but quickly cross gazes with the soldier who is apparently named Alex, finding that the British soldier is already looking at him.

They’re Highlanders, whatever that may mean, and he notes that their accents are slightly off from Tommy’s. It makes him anxious, because they’re both harder to understand, and in case he needs to wing it, much harder to impersonate.

But above all, when someone inevitably spots the Highlanders resting on the under structure’s beams and tells them they have a new ship for them, he reckons he doesn’t look very much alike in dress either.

For one – they’re not wet. As quickly as he can, while the tired men are having a hard time pulling themselves upwards, he lets himself dip into the dirty water, letting it soak up his uniform and hair.

It’s not comfortable at all, and he hopes to God that supposed ship is somewhere nearby, because the cold wind whipping around them is surely going to make some of them fall ill. He scurries upwards, sees Tommy following his lead, only to almost slam into Alex.

He’s squinting his eyes at him, then snorts in a way that makes Louis desperate to speak up and address the underlying tension. He’s not sure if the snort was out of amusement or derision, but he’s not in a position to analyse it.

It’s clear though that Alex has already figured out that they’re not actual Highlanders, but he’s allowing them to join his group nonetheless. Louis hopes it means something – an understanding of sorts.

Within minutes, he finds himself on a launch with a life-jacket on, huddled in between Alex and one of his regiment buddies, Tommy across from him, as he quietly looks back and studies the way people are still lined up on the beach of his hometown. It’s strange, how quickly a place can become so utterly unrecognisable.

As the beach becomes smaller and smaller, so does the anxiety. He can feel some of the pent up tension dissipate, but he still can’t quite relax. It’s difficult to process what exactly is happening, and he’s continuously aware of the fact that he’s not actually British. Luckily, no one seems keen on making conversation, as all eyes cast towards the big destroyer ship that can’t come closer to the shore of Dunkirk.

It’s only once the launch’ motor stops turning, that Louis realises that this is it. They’re supposed to fling themselves off of the boat, and onto the nets, crawling their way up and over the ship. He sends a silent prayer to Remi for making him carry wine barrels back at the pub – even though he always complained about it, and follows a soldier over the ledge of the launch.

He latches onto the net, and starts making his way upwards. He tries to focus on his own struggle, but he can’t help but turn his head as he hears an ear-piercing scream. The man is being crushed between the destroyer and the launch, not having had enough strength to pull himself up into the rope mesh properly. He tries to calm his galloping heart, and forces himself to gaze upwards again. He’s okay. He isn’t exhausted, he can push through and make the climb – it’s not his fate to end up splattered onto a destroyer’s hull.

Louis feels a shoulder brush his, and it helps snap him out of his oncoming panic. When he looks sideways, he’s met with the hips of Alex, who’s continued to climb his way up and is already hoisting himself over the rail.

He follows close behind, and suddenly finds himself clutching at the railing too while unfamiliar hands grab onto his body to help him out. He really wants to collapse right there on the deck, but the cheers of the soldiers, and the hustle and bustle of a British destroyer that isn’t in the direct line of fire inject some much needed adrenalin into his veins instead.

So he looks over to the other newcomers, and shoots a tentative smile in Tommy’s and Alex’ direction. For now, they’re safe.

 

* * *

 

 

Alex doesn’t trust him, that much is clear. His green eyes keep following Louis around the ship, and it’s unnerving. He isn’t quite sure what Alex wants from him either, but Louis has resolved to avoid the handsome private for now. Tommy is much nicer, accepting of Louis’ silence, providing a stable camaraderie rooted in their will to survive. They lied together to get on this ship, and now they’re going to make it back to England. Alex really could be more grateful, with the way they fished him out of the water – before getting smashed up by the big ship.

The big ship that out of nowhere – out of bombings and sheer panic – capsized. Which is exactly why Louis doesn’t fully trust _this_ ship either. He’s not staying inside despite what the captains and nurses have urged them to do, way too scared to be locked up. Instead he chooses to constantly move around the ship as he carefully logs all possible escape routes.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” He hears as he’s staring out into the dark night, eyes carefully trained on the waves hitting the side of the ship in a steady rhythm. Louis’ watching out for any disturbances of that rhythm, and letting the absence of them calm him. Now his concentration is instead disturbed by the source of his inner turmoil.

Green eyes find his blue ones, and Louis feels exposed, so he turns back towards the sea once more as he shakes his head. He’s seen soldiers fall silent out of trauma. He hopes Alex will assume the same has happened to him, much like Tommy has done.

Alex moves to stand next to him then, arm carefully nudging that of Louis’. He isn’t quite sure what the contact means to Alex, but Louis becomes painfully aware of the fact it creates goosebumps on his skin.

It’s clear he’s waiting for an answer that he should know by now isn’t going to come. It takes him a minute, and just as Louis is starting to think maybe Alex is more bark than bite, the guy grips his arm to get his attention. “I think you’re not being honest with any of us. And I don’t like that. Just a fair warning that I’ve got my eyes on you, mate.”

All he can do is nod, refusing to look away now that Alex is trying to intimidate him. He still isn’t quite sure what the attractive Englishman wants from him, and he wonders if maybe some of the sentiment has just gotten lost in translation. But he’s also fairly sure that Alex looks at him a bit too often. He wonders how people like him are treated in England, but then he hears the slurs hurled in jest at one another on the ship, and he realizes it’s just more of the same. Yet Alex grips his arm too long, too soft, for it to mean _nothing_ – of that, Louis is sure. He just doesn’t know if Alex is doing it on purpose, or unconsciously, or if he’s scared.

Being scared of yourself is different than being scared of the war. Fearing rejection and repulsion by society, ending up all alone as some sort of pariah – that’s a different fear than the fear of death, or the traumas of having seen too many young people die.

He sees that in Alex’ eyes. The constant battle between wanting to be a hero, and feeling like a coward. He wonders about that. Alex could’ve chosen to stay. Instead he was one of the first to get on a boat to leave Dunkirk behind. There’s disillusion etched all over his face, but it seems to ebb away a bit whenever he looks at Louis. Which is why Louis is pretty sure there’s no reason for him to be wary of Alex. Alex might be scared of _him_ , though.

Tommy comes to find him soon after, telling him that he’s arranged for them to share a cramped space with Alex and his ‘brothers’. Louis is pretty sure that they’re not really related, though. None of them share the same moss-green eyes that seem to drown out the rest of the world whenever they find his gaze.

Somehow, fate has it that Louis’ ‘bed’, a little blanket haphazardly spread out on the floor – is situated right between Tommy and Alex. He wants to ask who put him down there, but he knows his accent will immediately give himself away, so he just lies down and raises an eyebrow at Tommy, who shrugs and smiles at him. Tommy is probably just happy to be safe for a bit. Louis assumes they’re all younger than he is himself, and he feels sorry for the innocence they’ll have lost throughout this war. He’s quite sure Tommy hasn’t killed anyone, though. Not yet, that is. He feels protective over the younger lad, like he’s the younger brother he never had. He wonders if Tommy has any family back home. For a second, his thoughts drift to his own family, but he resolutely shuts that part off, even though he can feel the photo burning inside his uniform. He can’t allow himself to look at it – not here, not now. But now that he’s thought about his mum and little sisters, it’s hard to focus on anything else.

So Louis doesn’t sleep. He stays awake to register any and all sudden movements of the ship, and of the people on it. He’s aware that Alex’ suspicions – though not applicable to Louis himself – could hold true for others. Surely Louis isn’t the only one who’s pulled on a dead man’s uniform and has tried to march in time with the British troops.

He hears rustling from his other side, and quickly looks over – only to find Alex staring back at him. It shouldn’t be possible, to see his eyes shine brightly in the pitch black night, but he can still feel them boring into his face. It’s unsettling, because even though the private told him earlier how he didn’t trust him, it's not what his eyes are conveying right now. He sees the same look in Alex eyes that he’s seen plenty of times on his sisters' faces when they’d looked for him or their mother during heavy thunderstorms. It is the same look he’d seen on himself when he’d passed a mirror that one time when strikers had roared loudly as they’d passed over Dunkirk, and he’d looked at Remi in vain, for some sort of denial of reality.

It’s a look of both fear and trust. Fear of the moment, trust that this person will hopefully get you through it. Louis isn’t really sure what makes Alex project it onto him – perhaps it’s because he is the only one awake in this room full of soldiers, inside a ship that is still a target for as long as they aren’t safe and sound in an English harbour.

He can feel his cheeks heat up the longer Alex doesn’t move, until suddenly he feels a hand settle onto his leg, stilling its movement that Louis hadn’t even registered himself.

Alex doesn’t let go though, not even once he’s quieted down. The moment feels heated, and dangerous, because they aren’t _alone_ – there’s no privacy. Yet, he chooses to take a risk as he reaches down to settle his hand on top of Alex’.

“You’re something else, aren’t you Gibson?” He hears Alex whisper in wonder, and it pierces straight through Louis’ heart.

It’s not his name and he has to bite his lip not to correct him. But as long as he’s on this ship – as long as they’re not safe, he’ll continue to bear it.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Alex murmurs as he tangles their fingers together, slowly moving into Louis’ space until he’s curled up against his side. They’ll get away with it. It’s crowded on the ship and it’s cold. Sharing body heat really isn’t that weird, he reasons to himself as he fixes his gaze on the springy curls that are trying to escape Alex’ matted down hair. He’s dirty, and dangerous, and though he’s not quite the enemy – Louis’ aware they aren’t comrades either. Yet, he’s also the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen and he’s determined more than ever to get Tommy, Alex and himself through this war alive.

Maybe it’s that he’s so used to looking out for others, or maybe Tommy is the only real friend Louis’ known, and Alex the kind of man – the kind of man Louis’d let himself fall hopelessly in love with, in any other world.

With a small smile on his face, Louis can feel his eyes droop close. He’d rather stay awake until they arrive in England, but he knows his body needs rest. And with his hand safely tucked into Alex’ larger one, it’s a little bit easier to let sleep take over him.

He isn’t asleep all that long, because he wakes up minutes later to the sound of the engines starting. He quickly disentangles his hand for Alex, and tells his heart to stop rabbiting out of his chest over some physical contact. Louis should know more than anyone that in the peak of war and all the emotions it brings along, people feel vulnerable and just want some affection.

Within seconds he’s up and out of the room, wanting to see visual evidence of the destroyer finally moving again. What he finds instead is harrowing, and not at all what he expected. He doesn’t feel satisfied or happy as they move away from small boats full of desperate men who weren’t as lucky as they are to get on board the big destroyer and are screaming for help that Louis can’t provide them with. They’re drifting close to the ship, but they will fade into the pitch black sky and waters soon enough once the destroyer picks up speed. If they don’t get swallowed up by the waves it’ll eventually cause.

He turns away over the frustration of not being able to help. He can’t answer their calls no matter how much he wants to say something reassuring even if it’s a lie and they’d all know that too. Sometimes being lied to is nice, Louis has found, especially in stressful situations. He’d told his sisters they’d be alright, they’d see eachother again – all in one piece. And he knew when he’d said it that it’s an empty promise, is very much aware that he might never see them again – has no way of knowing how they’ve fared so far, and has no way of knowing if he’ll make it out of this either.

But for a second, the illusion of being in control of your fate, that false sense of security can be welcoming and appreciated. He knows that, but he can’t give it to them in fear of being found out himself.

So he looks elsewhere, only to take note moments later of a very strange stream of white water that seems to be moving. A second later he realises it’s coming towards the ship, and his eyes widen as he scrambles to get back to the hall he came from, but it’s too late.

He can feel the torpedo hit the hull of the ship, the blast of impact hitting so hard he finds himself fallen over, people now screaming around him about the torpedoes coming their way. There’s another explosion, but all he can think about is that he needs to ensure Tommy and Alex will make it out. The hall is below deck, and he’s quite certain that the torpedo will have blasted through whatever iron their temporary resting spot was made of.

They’re already sinking, but he won’t let them be taken with the ship. He’s running now, pushing past people, taking the shortcut he’d discovered earlier that day – before Alex had come to find him – then throws open the door that had fallen into its hatch due to the earlier explosion.

It’s worse than he thought, the entire place is already full of water, and he can’t make out their heads, all he sees is green uniforms and dark hair, but he can’t find moss-green eyes and that’s not good.

He doesn’t want to leave, but he promised his mother, promised himself he’d make it out alive. He can’t give that up for two boys he barely knows, he argues, but he _wants_ to – it wouldn’t feel right to slam the door and run.

Louis is still debating himself when he hears a garbled noise vaguely resembling ‘Gibson’, and when he whips his head in that direction, he sees Tommy, soon followed by Alex, soon followed by even more water as they continue to descend.

He trusts them to make it out, so he runs ahead and takes a leap into the water, secures himself a spot on one of the rescue rowboats nearby. It’s crowded, and frantic and wild, and the boat capsizes twice, but Louis fights for his place on it as he folds himself up into a corner.

But he still can’t relax, and he doesn’t want to admit it to himself, but he really needs to see if Alex and Tommy are okay. So he keeps looking behind him, surveying the pitch black surface of the sea in hopes of finding those green orbs he likes.

He doesn’t have to wait long, feeling an arm encircle his own that he almost wants to shake off – afraid someone will fight him for his spot, but then he realises it’s Alex’ and he lets him climb aboard.

He’s not welcome on the boat though, and Louis is a little confused by the open hostility, the frenzied, desperate look in the soldier’s eyes that pushes him back into the water – and the anger that’s oozing off of Alex as he screams back at him.

The person in charge of the boat steps in, tells his friends they’ll have to pick them up later on, and Louis almost doesn’t dare to look back at them.

He does though, because he needs them to _understand_ this is his _only_ way out – as much as it’s theirs. Tommy seems defeated and unsure on what to do now but float about in the water, what’s worse though is the clear and seething, stinging look of betrayal on Alex’ face,  green eyes defiantly staring back at Louis angrily.

Perhaps Alex half expects him to jump ship and wait with them for another boat to pick them up out of some sort of solidarity, but that’s not going to happen. What happens instead, is that Louis throws them a rope to hold onto for the ride. It’s not ideal, but he supposes they can switch places if it takes long.

Besides, he almost willingly gives up his coveted spot on the raft once he realises they’re taking them all back to Dunkirk once more where they’ll have to wait again. Louis doesn’t know if he _can_ – waiting, again, on the mercy of some higher force that might not even show up before the devil does.

That’s how he finds himself staring listlessly out at sea once more. Tommy and Alex are sitting next to him, and perhaps he should find solace in the fact he’s not alone, but honestly – Louis has never felt more lonely.

His family is gone and he has no way to contact them, his house in Dunkirk isn’t any longer in his possession meaning he doesn’t have a home to return to – and given the dark smoke coming from the city, it might not even exist at all - he doesn’t recognise the beaches what with how the bombings have deformed them, and he hasn’t spoken out loud in days.

He really wants to cry, but he hasn’t seen any of the other men give into tears and he’s not sure how British people show emotions. The fact he has to keep himself in check all the time only serves to make him more frustrated. He’s used to having to hide certain parts of himself, but he’d found ways around the restrictions. Right now – he just feels stuck in hell, even though he knows it could be much worse. He’s alive, and he’s not even injured.

Still. Louis understands it when a man passes them by, loses his lifejacket and just walks off into the endless water. It’s cold - the wind has picked up again, both salt and sand attacking his eyes and skin. He sighs, and stands up in hopes of getting rid of the jitters that keep dancing through his body.

He wanders off towards the dunes he’d been so _sure_ he’d never see again, sighing as his hand skims the grass that’s somehow survived all the violence so far. If he recalls correctly, there’s a little alcove just around the corner, where he can hopefully just sit on his own for a bit. Louis needs to curse in his mother tongue, needs to be able to cry his eyes out, and just feel like he can _breathe_ for a bit.

Of course, fate decides differently. He’s just settled down and is staring at the photo of his family, wondering if he’s made the right choice in sending them off alone, when he hears rustling behind him.

It’s really too late to hide any tears, and frankly at this stage Louis doesn’t care anymore who finds him like this. It should be okay for him to cry, or any other soldier for that matter. The situation they’re in seems to become more futile with every other minute they have to wait for salvation. Every second they’re stuck on the beach means another second stuck on a free shooting range for the Germans.

He supposes it could be worse. He’s seen the French soldiers being shut out of the British evacuation efforts, _knows_ that the French people – his people – stuck in Dunkirk are a lost cause. So he realises that he should be grateful, and he doesn’t really feel guilty over the fact that at least he’s got some sort of hope to cling onto, even though it depends on people not finding out he isn’t actually British. Still, it doesn’t make his sorrow or anguish any less. He still feels his chest burning with pain and fear and despair.

“Oh, I’m sorry – I, ehm, sorry –” comes a deep voice that can only belong to one person.

‘s fine’ Louis manages to squeeze out, brushing away his tears, though it won’t really make a difference as they are immediately replaced with new ones rolling down his cheeks.

Alex looks uncomfortable at his open display of brokenness, but it’s not like he’s fooling anyone – at least not in Louis’ eyes. All of these soldiers are broken in some way, and it won’t help anyone if they try to deny it. At least, that’s what Louis believes.

“What’s that?”

The question catches him off-guard, and suddenly Louis is reminded of the fact he’s still clutching his family photo in his hands. He’s not fast enough to deny Alex, and he feels like his heart has been forcefully wrenched open now that the private is looking over the portrait.

Louis wants to scream at him. It isn’t his, it’s not his right to hold it, to look at it, to take it from Louis. But he can’t, because he’d know within seconds Louis is French. If he can’t already tell by the photo.

So he just cries harder, a sob escaping his lips as he reaches out a hand and makes a blind grab for the photo. Alex seems to quietly observe the portrait, before suddenly leaning in and folding it up gently, tucking it back into Louis’ uniform.

He’s very close, and he’s not moving away – a big looming presence in Louis’ personal space.

He is still sad, and he still feels so lonely, craves human contact, so on a whim he decides to just lean into Alex’ body, wrapping his arms around his shoulders.

He can feel the taller man tense for a second, but Louis _needs_ this, so he doesn’t let up, and then there’s two arms sliding into place around Louis’ waist, pulling him slightly closer.

So they sit there for a bit, arms wrapped around each other, Louis’ tears leaking into Alex’ uniform – indistinguishable from the salty water that had drenched it earlier that week.

He leans away from Alex after a little while once he’s calmed down, and finds himself staring into his green eyes hoping to find some sort of answer as to what just happened. One of Alex’ hands reaches up and pushes a loose strand of Louis’ hair back into place.

It’s a soft gesture, but it’s a bit clumsy and rough around the edges. Louis briefly wonders why Alex followed him in the first place, but he almost snorts out loud when he realises it’s probably because he didn’t trust him.

Still, the moment feels almost fragile. He’s distracted from Alex when a lone jet zooms over their heads and he instinctively flinches away.

“It’s British, it’s fine,” he hears Alex say, but it’s too late now. He stands up abruptly, and starts moving back towards where Tommy is still lying on the beach. 

Perhaps that’s the best way to deal with this all. To just lie down, sleep, and hope that come morning, there’ll be a magical solution.

Morning comes. There’s no magical solution. Tommy manages to somehow get his hands on an old bread roll and some water – Louis thinks he’s probably rummaged through some of the stuff one of the soldiers left before letting the current pull him in – and he shares it with Louis  while Alex is off looking for his own regiment. Louis ends up in the same alcove, his hands lifting up piles of sand only to let it slip through his fingers. It’s a mindless task, but it helps to keep his raging thoughts at bay.

He feels trapped. Even more so when he hears the telltale sounds of Alex approaching once again. He wants to snap at him, something about trust, and perhaps about leaving him alone, but he isn’t even sure he really wants him to.

“We need to talk. Well – I need to talk. I know you don’t talk and I don’t know why and it frustrates me, because I have no idea of what you’re thinking and what you want,” Alex announces as he comes barging into the alcove.

Louis closes his eyes shortly, but then turns so he’s facing Alex and stares up at him defiantly.

“The thing is that you’re dangerous. You’re so pretty, and you don’t talk at all so I don’t even know what you’re thinking, but I _trust_ you and I feel this connection, and I just hope you think about me as much as you occupy my own thoughts. Fuck, I just – I need to forget, wanna forget for a little bit, make me forget?”

It’s a rushed and desperate plea, but Louis can see the honesty and fear in Alex’ eyes, so he just nods ever so shortly before delving right in to push his lips against the Brit’s.

He knows how to do that – make soldiers forget. He’s just not sure if he can forget this himself.

Alex is on the right side of rough, hands gripping his waist hard as he licks into Louis’ mouth. Louis smiles into it and eagerly kisses him back as he tries to find purchase on Alex’ broad back.

It’s heated and fiery, but Louis wonders how much experience Alex really has when his hands start roaming but seem to hesitate before placing a tentative hand on Louis’ bum.

So he detaches his mouth from Alex’ for a second as he grins up at the green-eyed soldier, then grabs onto Alex’ hand and pushes it to grab his bum more firmly.

He can’t help the quiet gasp that escapes him when Alex finally gets what Louis wants, and squeezes. Louis moves to cradle his jaw, then nips softly on Alex’ bottom lip before delving in once more.

His lips are chapped from the cold, and Louis finds that Alex’ skin tastes like the sea when he moves down to kiss his neck, but Alex is so _warm_ , and the little noises he makes when Louis’ hand travels down to his fly only spur him on further.

‘You—ah, you can’t leave any – marks,’ he mutters just as Louis starts sucking on an apparently very sensitive part of skin right where his collarbone starts. He gets it though, can’t leave any traces of him on Alex. It’s not new, and he hadn’t really been about to suck a bruise into his skin. Louis knows how to be discrete. It’s the only way he can be. But he realises that Alex doesn’t know that, so he just leans back upwards to kiss him instead.

Maybe it had been Alex who’d asked for this, wanting to forget for a bit, but Louis realises how much he needs this, wants the illusion of safety, intimacy, and warmth it provides just as much.

But just as he’s about to give up on the tiny bit of teasing he’d been doing, and finally slip his hand into Alex’ pants, while Alex himself is attacking his neck – they’re rudely awakened out of their temporary reprieve.

“Alex! Your regiment! Highlanders, they’re coming this way,” Tommy yells, blissfully unaware of what’s going on just around the corner.

Louis barely even blinks when Alex moves away from him with a weird glint in his eyes. He doesn’t think Tommy will suspect anything, the boy somehow still innocent – even in the midst of war.

He waits a bit before following Alex back onto the beach, only to be met by Tommy and a whole group of Highlanders. He only recognises some of their faces from before, though he also thinks there used to be more of them. He doesn’t dwell on that latter bit too much.

Their accents make it difficult to follow the conversation, so instead Louis watches the shore.

He can see the multiple bodies bobbing up and down as the waves roll into the beach. It should be horrifying, but Louis just feels numb at the sight.

War kills on all sides, in all sorts of cruel ways. He’s not all that surprised if people lose the fight within themselves, lose the will to just hold on for another moment of time. It’s a different kind of war – one that rages on inside of everyone, only because of the great big war raging on around them. Maybe a part of him has died too, Louis thinks, killed by the cruelty he witnesses around him.

He’s shaken out of his reverie when Tommy nudges him, and he faintly catches Alex’ motion towards the two of them to follow along. They might not be part of his regiment, and it’s clear that the other Highlanders don’t care much for them – but Louis figures that it’s fine, because he doesn’t really care for them either.

Apparently they’ve found an abandoned boat, is what he gathers from the excited chatter as they walk. As soon as the boat comes into better view, Louis sees it’s hardly a boat – it’s a trawler. Not all that big, but hopefully big enough for their entire company.

It’s stranded on the beach, and Louis frowns at that, looking back at where the waves dip down to kiss the sand once every while. Tide won’t be coming in for a long while.

He walks a bit faster at that, hoping to catch more of the plans, because he doesn’t understand the rush at all. Louis feels anxious all of a sudden, as he tries to calculate the time it’ll take for tide to hit and lift the trawler.

“Why?” he hears Alex ask once of his comrades, and Louis strains his ears to listen in as he follows the other soldiers onto the boat. They’re now standing in plain sight, far removed from the rest of the stranded soldiers, and he doesn’t feel safe.

“We’re outside the perimeter. Enemy could be right there. Best shut ourselves inside and wait for the high tide,” the Highlander answers.

Louis doesn’t understand why they’d want to wait inside for so long, without any form of protection or way to know what’s going on outside. But he can’t speak up and voice his concerns, so he just follows Tommy and sits down next to him, then waits.

Alex keeps pacing back and forth in the small hold, and it’s getting on Louis’ nerves. He doesn’t get why Alex is so keyed up. They’ve got hours to go still before high tide will hit them, and all it does is make him feel claustrophobic.

It’s like Alex knows he’s thinking of him, because suddenly his green eyes are set on Louis, narrowed into slits as he stalks over.

“Go poke your head out, see if the water’s come in.”

Louis shakes his head as he curls up into himself – he doesn’t need to go outside to look, in order to know that it won’t be enough to lift the boat. Alex only seems frustrated by his refusal, but he’s not too bothered.

If Alex were that curious, he could go and have a look himself, but it’s obvious he’s scared of what he’ll find out there. It’s funny, Louis thinks, how fear can manifest itself in so many ways. Because here Alex is, choosing cowardice – or perhaps self-preservation – and anger to channel his fear into, rather than trying to overcome it by taking the lead.

Or perhaps Alex thinks he _is_ taking the lead by just barking commands at others. And maybe Louis is expected to listen because, well, he’s just a lowly soldier, and Alex is a Highlander. He’s not sure, but he is quite certain that Alex’ antsy behaviour isn’t doing anyone in the boat any favours.

He can feel Alex glaring at him, and pretends not to hear him when he scoffs out a “talkative sod”. Maybe it’s Louis’ own fault for thinking the moment they’d shared in the alcove would change anything, but he can’t help the sinking of his gut, and the hurt swirling around in his chest at Alex’ antagonising words.

Tommy quickly puts a hand on his shoulder as if to show his support – even though there’s no way he knows why Louis’d be affected at all by those words, then moves to climb up the ladder and have a look outside.

As Louis predicted, the water hasn’t come in. As Louis predicted, Alex freaks out and his regiment buddies try to calm him down. It only works for a little while.

Most of the soldiers have drifted off to sleep, but Louis’ still awake, carefully keeping watch of all the expressions flitting across Alex’ face whenever he looks at him. They’re sitting on opposite ends of the hold, and Louis kind of wants to crawl over so he can reach out and touch. He’s not sure if he wants to punch Alex, or kiss him, but he knows neither will help.

Louis sighs, then moves to look out of the porthole as he leans over Tommy’s slumped body. The water is coming again, this time with much more force. It won’t be much longer now, before the boat will start moving.

He can’t help the corners of his mouth that are pulling up at the thought of _finally_ getting to leave Dunkirk and war behind.

But then there’s boots clanking on deck, waking up all men in the hold, and within seconds there’s a terrified sailor being held at gunpoint that is decidedly not German, followed by gunshots hitting the hull of the trawler, and suddenly the sailor is _dead_ , and another guy is silently screaming into his jacket as his hand’s been hit by a bullet while he tried to plug the hole. There’s water seeping into the hold, but most disturbingly of all, there’s a gun now being held to Louis’ head, by Alex, and he doesn’t _understand_.

He closes his eyes and he waits with abated breath, the only explanation for it echoing through his mind being that Alex is going to call him out for his perverse sexual preferences. To tell everyone aboard the ship he’s gay, and then either shoot him, or perhaps even feed him to the wolves.

It’d be a great distraction, he supposes, while they try to get away.

But then he realises that Alex is yelling at him for being a _German_ _spy_ , not for being gay, and then suddenly Tommy is yelling too on his behalf, defending him. He almost feels a sense of relief coming over him at the fact that Alex didn’t out him, didn’t tell them anything _true_ that he couldn’t deny.

So he just shakes his head frantically as he holds up both of his hands, and then talks for the first time in days.

‘Je suis français - I’m French! I’m an ally, I’m French!’

It doesn’t work out the way he wants to. There’s more bullets ricocheting in the hold, water seeping in exponentially, and Alex’ frenzied face has melted into betrayal, anger and disgust - rather than understanding.

He doesn’t even turn to look at Tommy, because he can feel how Tommy has moved away from him now.

And then, Alex just snarls at him, ripping the stolen dog tags from his neck – “A Frog. A bloody Frog. A cowardly little queue-jumping Frog...”

He vaguely hears Tommy defending him as Alex keeps on attacking him with questions about how he got to own the costume he’s wearing, but he can’t quite comprehend it.

Louis is much more focused on the continuous gunshots, mind going over how long it’ll take for the boat to float – if it’ll float at all still with all the holes. He thinks they should be fine, can still make it out of here alive as long as someone will tend to the engine.

“We need to lose ballast,” one of the Highlanders screams, and Louis frowns to himself.

Because no, what they _need_ , is to be quiet and plug the holes, and in a couple of minutes, try levelling the ship themselves. But then Alex is looking at him as if he wants him to get up, and it takes Louis a moment to realise that _he_ ’s probably the ballast they want to lose.

Tommy looks upset, but also makes no move to get up and help. “You can’t do that. We’re on the same side.”

“Better him than me,” Alex says, grabbing onto one of Louis’ arms as if to pull him upwards. Maybe Alex is just seizing the opportunity to get rid of Louis as a way to get rid of his unwanted attraction and feelings for Louis. Maybe it's just an impossible scenario where Alex chooses his brothers over a French boy - a last in first out sort of thing.

‘It’s not fair,’ Tommy tries again, but it’s futile and weak in its attempt. Louis doesn’t blame him.

“ _Survival_ isn’t fair,” Alex bites out, “Someone needs to get off, so the rest of us can live!”

Survival isn’t fair that way, Louis agrees. It’s based on greed for life, and fear of death.

But it’s also based on smarts, luck and on mercy.

And Alex and his regiment are lucky that Louis has got the right smarts, and that he doesn’t want anyone to die when they don’t have to.

“If you want all of you to live, let me _help_. I am the only one who knows the tide here, probably the only one who can get this boat to work. You killed your one shot of getting out of here already.”

His voice is a bit scratchy from not having been used all that much, and there’s an urgency and desperation to it that makes it almost unrecognisable to even his own ears. But Alex still stares at him for a beat too long, following his line of sight to the dead sailor, and then back at Louis.

His grip on Louis’ arm tightens, and another highlander yelps as the water rises.

“Alex, fuck - are we really going to trust a frog?!”

“Shut up,” he snaps almost immediately, eyes boring into Louis’ own blue ones, and then he lets go of his arm. “Yes, we are, because I don’t know about you, but I wanna fucking make it home, for fuck’s sake.”

Louis scrambles towards the engine, tells them to distribute their weight, and suddenly the ship levels and they’re moving away from the beach with Louis at the helm, and the others desperately trying to plug the holes with whatever material they can find.

It’s not enough. The high tide also means high waves, and it’s only a trawler, there’s only so much it can take – especially with all these soldiers in the hold. He sees how fast the boat is still sinking into the swell, but he isn’t going to give up.

Louis thinks he might be going insane, out of pure desperation, but he thinks there’s a friendly nearing them and he _needs_ them to make it. They _have_ to make it.

So he blocks the wheel, opens up the door and climbs back down to where the others are all trying to ensure the plugs stay in place, holding back jet streams with bare hands.

“What are you doing?!” Tommy yells, as Louis motions for him to switch places.

‘Go up and tell me if that ship is one of yours,’ he says as he places his hands over the two plugs that Tommy was holding, pressing his knee into another gaping hole that keeps spraying water inside.

Tommy’s head appears on top of the holding lock moments later to confirm that there’s a destroyer further up headed towards the British shore, but a smaller boat flying the English flag seems headed their way.

Louis takes a moment to look around, then nods for him to come down again. “Once we’re close, I’ll tell you to come up and abandon ship. We won’t make this.”

He runs up, steers the trawler directly into the route of the boat coming their way so they can’t be missed, then yells for the Highlanders to one by one abandon ship. They don’t listen, instead start scrambling up the ladder, jumping off board as soon as they can. It makes them go down even faster, and then he sees Tommy dive into the sea. He knows he shouldn’t care, but he can’t help himself as his eyes scan the area to find Alex.

It’s only when he fully turns that he sees Alex crawling out of the ladder hold. “I’m the last one. Here.”

At first, Louis doesn’t get what Alex is getting at, as his hand drifts immediately to the pocket where he keeps his family photo. There’s no time to ask questions though, as Alex surges forward to drape something over him, only to realise it’s the dog tags he ripped off earlier.

He’s giving Louis a way out – a cover, should he need one. It’s clear that the Highlanders respect Alex enough to follow his lead, so he hopes that they’ll keep up pretence for as long as Alex is willing to. It’s a sign of trust, perhaps even an apology for the way he’d held a gun up to Louis’ head.

Louis frowns when he hits the water. It’s drenched with oil, making his movements sluggish as he fights to get to the boat that’ll hopefully, finally, bring them back to England.

When he’s hauled on board, he’s quite certain he’s no longer recognisable – his hair and face covered in glossy black filth. Which is fine, the anonymity making it that much easier to slip under the radar.

He’s _so_ tired, but he’s _safe_. He’s safe, and while he _hates_ that he’s immediately sent below deck once again, he complies because he just doesn’t have the energy anymore to fight it. Besides, he gets handed a life-jacket, a towel, some water, and something to eat. He feels exhausted, but fine.

Except of course there are those green eyes that haunt him, pinning him down, even here when they’re surrounded by tens of other oil-covered men.

Alex moves to sit next to him, telling the person Louis had been sitting next to that he’d like to switch because of sea-sickness. It’s a clear lie, but the man doesn’t object – probably too tired to argue.

They sit in silence for a while, and Louis is starting to drift off for what feels like the first time in actual ages, but then Alex nudges him and leans in to whisper in his ear.

“Could you – ehm, could you tell me your real name?”

“Lou-eh,” Alex repeats his name softly after Louis tells him, testing out the syllables as they roll off his tongue.

He can’t help but smile at his tries to pronounce it correctly, the French way, and it feels good to have something to smile about – even though he can’t quite process everything yet, feels like he might just wake up and land himself back in Dunkirk again. He wants to stay awake so badly, hear Alex butcher his name, and reassure himself every other minute that they’re moving towards England now – away from the war and into safety.

Still, despite his best efforts, he soon feels the movement of the ship slowly rock him to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Louis wakes up to Tommy shaking him, telling him to get up and come look at the white cliffs. He probably doesn’t realise that France too, has white cliffs, but Louis comes along nevertheless. He’s not about to ruin the fact that Tommy apparently has decided to still be his ally at the very least, perhaps even a friend.

He’s glad he gets up on deck to have a look, because it’s not the same at all. It’s foreign.

“We let you all down, didn’t we?”

Immediately, Louis’ head snaps back to watch Alex’ defeated expression. He’s obviously exhausted and run ragged, and apparently the boy Alex had been talking to agrees, as he just shakes his head and offers Alex an apple and a blanket.

‘You fought in France, and then you fought to get back here, just as you were ordered to. And you made it. That’s not a let-down,’ he hears the boy say. He thinks his name is Peter, but he’s not sure.

Tommy tells him they’ll be docking at Weymouth, and they’ll take a train from there. Louis nods, though he has no idea where Weymouth is, and how he should feel about it.

The details don’t matter for him right now. He knows it’ll be difficult for him to find his way around – he’s clearly a foreigner, and he’s prepared to put in the hard work as to not be seen as the fugitive he obviously is.

But he’s not ashamed of his choices. He’s _alive_. It’s almost exhilarating, to realise he’s made it this far. Louis follows Tommy and Alex as soon as they climb off board, and finds himself suddenly holding an official looking paper in one hand, and a cup of tea in the other. They’re shepherded towards a train track, and he just blindly follows along.

It’s like the excitement of setting foot on British ground has given way to exhaustion, soldiers no longer relieved as the reality and reason of their return starts to dawn on them.

Before they enter the train, they’re handed a warm blanket by an old man. He doesn’t look up at anyone, and it reminds Louis of his late uncle. He always used to clasp Louis’ hand, and then would ask him to describe the way the world looked. He’d died right before the war had broken out, and honestly, Louis is happy he never had to explain to his uncle the way the world was looking right now.

Louis goes first, receiving the blanket from the man as well as some encouraging words. He gently squeezes the man’s hand, hoping it’ll convey the same as it did for his uncle – a smile and a common understanding.

He climbs into a carriage, and looks back over his shoulder to see Alex and Tommy follow along. The latter conks out the moment his head hits the seat, but Louis can’t really think what with Alex choosing to sit next to _him_ and not Tommy.

He slightly wonders about the rest of Alex’ regiment, his ‘brothers’, but he doesn’t want to ask. The green-eyed boy looks devastated and furious all at the same time. So instead of talking, they just sit there – side by side for a little while.

“That old bloke wouldn’t even look us in the eye,” Alex suddenly bursts out, an angry frown on his face.

Louis wants to reach out and touch, but the soldier’s projecting hostility all over, so he just sighs. ‘He was blind, _idiot._ ’ 

“We didn’t do anything – we just… we survived. He’d be right too,” is what he gets as response, and Louis kind of wants to strangle Alex.

And this is what war does – it gets people to be at war with themselves. Because Louis can see that just like any other private he spent time with, Alex is too young to carry this burden, to have lost the idealism of being a hero already.

‘Didn’t you tell me that survival wasn’t fair? Not everyone survives, Alex. You did. You fought for that. There’s heroism in that too. And it’s okay too if you’re happy and relieved to be safe for now. Honour isn’t just how many people you’ve killed.’

“I almost killed _you_. That’s not honour or heroism either, it was cowardice,” Alex retorts, and Louis can see the way his breath hitches, the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down as if he’s trying to get rid of a lump in his throat.

‘But you _didn’t_. You’re here. I’m here. You chose to trust me in the end. That was bravery. That’s what matters,’ Louis reminds him.

Alex lets out a deep sigh, all fight suddenly draining out of him, making him look much younger – probably finally resembling his actual age, Louis thinks – and then lets out a barely audible sniffle before staunchly turning towards the window, away from Louis.

His hand still finds its way onto Louis’ thigh, giving it a small squeeze, before turning palm upwards. It’s a rather awkward position for him, so he supposes it’s on purpose. Perhaps Alex just wants reassurance, Louis still doesn’t quite know.

But, it’s clear that Alex is leaving the ball in his court, hand outstretched and open, ready for Louis to take. However, they’re also in a train, and Tommy is sitting right across from them. Other soldiers are asleep on the seats just on the other side of the pathway. They can’t risk it.

He still can’t help it though, wants to touch too much to wait for Alex to give up, so he slides one pinky over to lock with Alex’ out of everyone’s line of sight. It’ll have to do.

 

* * *

 

 

When he wakes up, he realises his head is resting on Alex’ shoulder. With a jolt, he jerks his body sideways, scrambling to leave some space between the two of them. He quickly looks around, but sees no one is paying them any attention – most of the soldiers still asleep.

Alex is already awake though, and seems slightly disgruntled at the fact Louis has woken up.

“We’re almost there,” he says, pointing out the window as if that’ll tell Louis anything about their location, aside from the fact that the train has indeed slowed down considerably.

It doesn’t take long before Tommy’s awake too, and then there’s movement outside too – sunshine shining brightly down upon the train that’s now rolling so slowly there’s a boy running alongside it.

There’s a conversation Louis can’t really keep track of, but it ends with Alex asking for a newspaper which he then thrusts at Tommy immediately.

For a second Louis wonders if maybe Alex can’t read, but then he remembers how Alex had made a show of reading his – Gibson’s dog tags, so that can’t be it.

“They’ll be spitting at us in the streets. If they’re not locked up waiting for the invasion, that is,” Alex says gruffly.

It might sound rough, but Louis can hear the fragility and vulnerability in it – the disappointment. It’s as if Alex believes it’s his failure alone that has made Britain lose – as if now Germany will be at the doorstep of their island soon to conquer every single city.

He wants to tell him that it doesn’t make sense, assuage his worries – but he can’t, really. And while it’s obviously not Alex’ fault France has lost Dunkirk to Germany, there’s no way of knowing what the future will bring for Britain.

Louis isn’t quite sure yet what way this war will go – what fate the Brits have chosen for their country. Tommy clears his throat and starts reading the paper out loud. It’s a statement, apparently – by Churchill. He can feel Alex slide deeper down into his seat, as if he wants to hide away from the world.

It’s Louis who reaches out this time, lightly caressing Alex’ arm that’s obscured from view by their own bodies, and the table that stretches out between Tommy and their own seat, as a form of gentle reassurance.

Tommy isn’t even done with reading yet when there’s a gentle tapping on the window, and Louis realises they’ve arrived at the station.

Alex turns away initially, but he urges him to turn back – finally seeing the way civilians are wanting to offer them beer, and sandwiches – celebrating their return, rather than commiserating it.

Louis can feel the smile creeping in on his own face, as he sees the abundance of joy. It’s like war hasn’t even touched this quaint British town, and something unfurls in his belly.

That’s when Louis suddenly recognises the emotion that’s coursing through him. For the first time in a long time, he feels… happy.

Something is being pushed into his hands – a beer bottle, and he takes a sip, smiling widely at Tommy who’s still reciting the last lines of Churchill’s speech.

It’s rather inspiring, and it’s clear that England has chosen to not give in just yet. He supposes their ‘tactical retreat’ perhaps wasn’t all bluff, then. But even the brightest idealistic speeches don’t change the reality on the ground. Louis is surrounded by young men who have had to suffer, have had to mature, have had to do unspeakable things – only to survive with physical and emotional scars.

Still, for now, he feels happiness and elation as he watches the British people celebrate, thriving in their blissful ignorance, and all he wants to do is join them.

So they do. It’s not until later that night, after they’ve enjoyed their first hot meal in what feels like ages, that Tommy asks about his plans.

“You should just find yourself a nice British bird, get married,” he suggests as he points towards the little square where some soldiers have taken it upon themselves to dance with a couple of young ladies.

It’s a simple plan, and if Louis would find himself in a precarious situation one day, he might resort to that method. But he’d rather not. He’s already lost a lot of himself, has given up vital parts of who he is – he’s not about to sacrifice another.

He doesn’t even have the time to respond though, because Alex slings a casual yet very possessive arm over his shoulder. ‘Nah, he’s coming with me,’ he begins, and Louis feels heat rise to his cheeks.

‘Owe him that much,’ Alex adds.

Tommy shrugs, eyes focused on Louis. ‘I’ll write down my address, yeah? Send me a letter once you settle, and we can keep in touch.’

Louis nods, inching away from Alex in an attempt to dislodge his arm as he accepts the coaster that Tommy has quickly scribbled his information on.

 

* * *

 

The moment Tommy leaves for the house he’s been appointed a bed for the night, Louis turns towards Alex with a frown.

“Why’d you say that, _salaud_?”

Alex seems a bit taken aback by the hostility, but ends up frowning back. He’s probably offended too, Louis reckons.

He’s right, it turns out, when Alex starts talking. ‘I don’t know what that means, but I’m guessing it’s an insult. I was being nice, fuck’s sake, offering you a place to stay.’

A bitter laugh escapes Louis as he regards him. “You think I should be grateful for that? That you’re doing me a favour now all of a sudden? I came here to live freely, not to be a prisoner all over again. Don’t decide for me. You don’t own me.”

‘But you don’t even speak the language properly, you have no papers – I’d be able to take care of you for the time being. It’d be temporary, until you can find a place of your own,’ Alex fights back, some sort of fondness creeping into his voice that makes Louis want to scream, because he doesn’t _have the right_.

“What, you think just because I fondled your dick you’re special? You’re not the first boy I’ve touched. Plenty of women are right there for you. There’s no need to want to protect me. I’m a big boy. I just need to find my way.”

It’s mean, and blunt, and wholly unnecessary, but the words are out there now, and Louis can’t take them back. Doesn’t want to take them back either.

Alex is attractive, and he’s interesting, but he’s also impulsive and dangerous. Louis wants to save him, and make him feel better, but he _shouldn’t_. He needs to save himself first.

It seems the words hit a nerve, as he can see Alex’ jaw twitch. But instead of getting Alex to lash out like he expects him to, the boy just lets out a deep breath, before he starts mumbling.

‘I don’t think I want a woman, and I don’t think I want you touching other boys.’

And – oh. It’s so brutally honest, so small and vulnerable, that Louis finds himself helplessly drowning in feelings of affection and attraction for this green-eyed British traumatised soldier.

‘I want to help you get settled, that’s all. I didn’t treat you like an ally, and I don’t deserve your compassion. But I think you’re a better man than I am, and you deserve a shot here, in the UK. You don’t have to stay once you’re settled, I just – I need to know you’re okay.’

The silent _‘that I haven’t failed you too’_ isn’t missed by Louis.

He’s quiet for a bit, going over his options. The thing is that Louis is scared. Because Alex intrigues him, affects him like no other man has ever done, and he’s scared of what that means. Because he doesn’t want to end up dependent all over again. Doesn’t ever want to end up at the mercy of France, or Hitler, or England, or a boy.

But he’s got no one here. And despite what happened in Dunkirk, he trusts Alex. Trusts him to not lie to him, and to do what he promises. Trusts him to take care of him.

So he chooses to stay.

 

 


	2. Epilogue

**Epilogue.**

 

It's awkward at first. They take the train to Alex' home, and Louis feels displaced. He has zero possessions, aside from the crumpled up photograph of his family - he doesn't even have any clothes to wear. So the first few days, he walks around Alex' dingy flat somewhere in Cheshire dressed in nothing but his underpants and a dress shirt of Alex'. He knows he shouldn't, but he ends up using the chit registered to Gibson's name, and trades it for some spending money - which is how he ends up with a new set of clothing.

Alex is slightly upset about it, and starts a heated discussion on the propriety of burying soldiers, after which Louis explains exactly what had brought him to steal Gibson's uniform, and how he'd buried him afterwards. They're okay after that. 

Or well, as okay as one can be when you're sleeping in the same small bed. Alex' flat is small, and there's no space for any furniture, really - aside from the bare necessities. Alex ends up sleeping on the sofa the first few nights, to Louis' great amusement. He's not a prude, and tells Alex as much, but then he realises that Alex isn't afraid of Louis' virtue - he's just... scared. Of the expectations. 

They've kissed a few times since they arrived at Alex' flat, though most of the time Louis spends listening to radio shows alone trying to adopt a proper British accent, while Alex has a lot of friends and relatives to visit and reassure that he's fine. He doesn't tell them about Louis. The only one who knows where Louis is staying, is Tommy. 

Regardless, there is hardly any time to truly explore their 'relationship' or feelings towards another, when they have so many individual feelings to sort out themselves first. So they take their time, learning about each other's morning rituals and favourite beverages first, find out each other's pet peeves and what's guaranteed to make them laugh. They don't talk about the war. Not really. They can't - the memories are too fresh, simmering on the surface, like a looming cloud that sometimes suddenly appears and fades away just as fast.

 

* * *

 

It's when Louis notices that Alex' back starts hurting that he invites him to sleep in the bed. Alex forbids Louis from using the sofa, and so they end up crammed onto a mattress that was only ever meant for one person. Louis really tries to refrain from touching him, because he can see the insecurity in Alex' eyes - but there's just _so_ little space. 

In the end, he huffs and throw the duvet off of him, turns onto his side and stares at Alex. "What are you so afraid of,  _mon chéri_?" 

'I don't want to do anything wrong,' he receives as a reply. 

"You're fine, you can touch me. We can do it slowly. Or not. Your choice. Always your choice," Louis whispers back.

Louis' statement triggers a soft tentative hand trailing up his arm, and then he's being pulled in for a slow, but passionate kiss. He lets Alex' hands roam free over his pants-clad body, as he finds purchase in his hair. It's getting a bit longer now, and Louis has discovered that Alex actually has curls - to his great delight. 

He licks into Alex' mouth, gasping quietly as he feels Alex' hand settle firmly on his cheek. 

'You're so beautiful,' he hears him murmur, lips trailing down to Louis' neck, sucking a mark right under his ear. It's fine, he tells himself - it's not like Louis is going out and has friends that'll question him over any sort of hickey. Besides, he quite likes the idea of Alex leaving his traces all over him. 

He lets go of Alex' hair, playfully pulling on one stray curl, before gripping onto his biceps instead, pulling himself on top of Alex. Louis knows there's jelly in Alex' bedside table, discovered it when he was trying to find a good spot to keep his family's photograph. Alex ended up surprising him with a frame, and now it hangs proudly in the living room slash kitchen slash hallway. 

He's painfully hard in his briefs, and he gives himself a short squeeze to allow for some relief, before sitting up. The friction it causes between his and Alex' pelvis is delicious, and he can feel Alex make an aborted thrust under him. "What do you want, _mon chéri_ ," he asks, placing a featherlight kiss on Alex' exposed chest, fingers deftly tracing the sparse hairs splattered around one of his nipples. 

'Hm, just - wanna make you feel good. Can I -' Alex starts, hands moving towards his briefs and Louis nods right away, letting Alex remove them. The air in Alex' apartment isn't exactly cool, but it still makes Louis' cock give an involuntary twitch now that it's exposed. 

"Can I see you naked too? Wanna see." 

Alex lets out a moan that resembles a yes, and starts pulling off his own pants. Louis heaves himself off of Alex just so he can remove the final piece of clothing that's keeping them from being fully naked. 

The first thing he notices, is that Alex' cock is glorious. It's hard, and red, and just the right size that he  _knows_ will make him feel good. He's also steadily dripping pre-come, and Louis kind of wants to reach out and touch, maybe have a taste. But they're doing things slow, so instead, he just lowers himself back onto Alex, and revels in the feel of naked skin touching naked skin - their dicks rubbing together. 

It's addicting, and Louis feels scorching hot all over with the need to do something,  _anything,_ so he just latches back onto Alex' lips, nips and bites in between open-mouthed kisses. "Please can I touch? Just really wanna touch that cock of yours," he pleads wantonly once he really can't bear it any longer. 

Once Alex nods, his hand immediately dips down and swipes up some of the pre-come right off of Alex' swollen head, then smears it around, slicking up his grip. He starts slow, just simply moving up and down, before twisting slightly right as he nears the head. It has Alex moaning out loud, biting into Louis' shoulder in an attempt to keep himself quiet. 

Louis smiles at that, but gently lifts Alex' head off of his shoulder, and presses a sweet kiss to his lips.

"I'm gonna need your hand yeah? Want you to wrap it around both of our cocks," he says, knowing his own can't properly circle both of them at the same time. 

It's almost embarrassing how close he is just from humping and grinding a little, but the moment Alex fingers finally touch his dick, tracing the vein on the underside of it - he almost comes right then and there, a loud moan escaping him. 

'Love having your cock in my hand,' Alex supplies, dragging his hand up and down in a fast pace, just a touch too dry but not nearly enough to be really uncomfortable. Still, Louis makes him stop for a second, then pulls out the tub of jelly.

Immediately, Alex seems embarrassed and tells Louis he bought it on a whim, but has hardly ever used it. In return, Louis says he doesn't care either way, as long as from now on he'll only use it on and with Louis. 

He lathers some jelly onto his cock and Alex' hand, and then urges him to continue. The slide is so much slicker now, and he can feel not only Alex' fingers, but also the pulsing of Alex' cock right up against his own. It's when Louis then grabs one of Alex' fingers, dips it in jelly and gently brings it up to circle his rim, that Louis feels his orgasm wash over him. He groans and slumps down a little, bending down to nip at Alex' hipbone. Apparently that's what does it for Alex, because the next moment, Louis hears the telltale sound of come splattering onto Alex' tummy and inevitably some in Louis' own hair, as he feels Alex' muscles convulse. 

They should really clean up, but Louis doesn't want to get up and out of bed. He's snuggled right into the crook of Alex' arm, feeling spent and perfectly content in his post-orgasmic haze. 

Alex grins then, before breaking out in a full on giggle, eliciting a similar response from Louis - even though he doesn't get it at all. 

"That was... amazing. You make me really happy, Loulou." 

Louis' breath hitches at that. He's sure Alex doesn't know _loulou_ is a French nickname for a lover. Not that it'd be a bad thing. He's been calling Alex _chéri_ for a few weeks now. 

So he just smiles, enjoying the intimacy of the moment - it feels important somehow. 

'You make me happy too, Alex.' 

And Louis finds, that despite the fact there's still a war going on, and he's really not okay - sometimes finds himself trying to scrub his skin raw from dirty oil and blood that aren't really there - he's not lying. He is truly happy here, with Alex by his side.

 

* * *

 

 

From there on, it's a whirlwind full of exploration and experimentation - Louis especially thinks fondly of the time he finds out Alex' regiment is called Princess Louise's Highlanders, and rides Alex in bouts of laughter and horniness as a result - as their feelings grow into something solid, against all odds. 

It gets easier to talk about their experiences in Dunkirk, the ones that scarred them permanently and the ones that are disturbingly nice despite the circumstances, like newfound friendships. They talk about fear, survival instinct - they talk about the one time Alex held a gun to Louis' head, something that seems to have made more of a lasting impact on Alex than on Louis. They talk about their motivation to join or avoid the war effort, talk about selfishness and selflessness, and while they don't always agree with each other, they _listen_ and _respect_ each other. 

Because maybe Louis doesn't always find the ideals of some unknown superior worth fighting for, but he will always fight for his loved ones, their protection and their freedom.

He fights, because  _he_  has to - not because he's being told to. 

Years pass.

The war drags on.

It’s almost surreal, the way the front now seems to be so far removed from their own daily lives, when they used to be submerged in it. It reminds him of his time at the pub at the very beginning of the war, when all it encompassed for him was some abstract reality that he wasn't really a part of. When it still felt as if he was only a mere onlooker. 

He feels detached from it now in a way he didn’t back then. Back then he just couldn’t wrap his mind around the imagery. Now, it just feels like they aren’t talking about the same beaches he spent his days on posing as a British soldier. He’s not there to witness it, he can’t ask the radio questions because they'll go unanswered and he's not even sure he wants to know anyways - he can’t look out of his window and see the Germans inch closer day by day. Louis supposes he should be grateful for it, but there’s always this strange little swirl of longing in his chest.

Longing for the past perhaps, when he was surrounded by his own country, his own language, his own social circle. Alex’ friends treat him just fine, but it’s not the same. They think of Louis as a helpless foreigner – probably a traitor, and most definitely a bad influence on their son who refuses to go back to France, or any other military mission for that matter.

Life here in England, it’s hard, is what it is.

For the both of them, really.

Louis struggles a lot in the beginning – trying _so_ hard to adjust, and still being waved away simply because his pronunciation is ‘too soft, too exotic’. He knows they mean he’s too French. He hates having to rely on others though, so he works even harder just trying to fit in, earn a place for himself in a land he never really wanted to call his own, but kind of has to now.

Alex fights his own battles. His family and friends expect him to reenlist, and Louis knows that Alex loves his uniform. But he also sees the way in which Alex’ hands sometimes tremor whenever people bring up Dunkirk. The disillusionment, the fear of rejection and collective failure had faded soon enough with the way he’d been welcomed, but his personal demons hadn’t. Alex feels he’d been selfish in a way that Louis hadn’t – selfish enough to be willing to let someone else drown or die, just so save his own skin. Arrogant enough to think that it wouldn’t compromise his initial reason for signing up. He’d wanted to return a hero, but he’d returned as a mere lucky survivor instead, at the mercy of others. Mercy he in turn couldn't have guaranteed. 

Besides, life as a civilian – even a revered one – is just really fucking hard to fall back into once you’ve lived in a climate of constant fear, hierarchy and violence. But Alex finds other ways to keep himself occupied, and still aid the war effort – away from water, away from France, away from a choice between his own and other people’s fate.

He’s a volunteer for the ARP, and does utility work – a reserved occupation.

The radio is always on though, their tether to what’s happening in the rest of world.

Even when months on end nothing really changes, they still always end up sitting together, listening to the evening report. It’s comforting, somehow, makes them feel more involved and present with the front lines than they are – even though neither would ever truly want to get involved up close ever again.

Louis still gets angry when useless talk by politicians filters through the air, rather than actual updates from how people are  _actually_  doing. It’s not really their fight, but then again, it also kind of is – and it reminds him once again of how unfair the price, the forced sacrifice is of all those men whose boots are on hostile ground. He hopes they don't end up with hollowed eyes, are still able to tell right from wrong, even at the height of war, even at the low of civilian life upon return. If they get to return at all. 

 

* * *

 

 

When the time comes, and Alex and him are sitting on their sofa in a slightly bigger flat now that Louis' got a job as a teacher, listening to the radio reporting that the Germans have capitulated and the war is over - they first celebrate together, then call Tommy. Alex also calls some of his other regiment buddies who'd made it through, sharing the euphoria.

And then, once the first wave of relief and elation has passed, Louis' eyes glide back to the photo of his family. He misses his family every second of the day, sometimes so much it hurts.

He wonders if he did right by them, if they’re safe, if they’d be happy for him if they knew where he’s ended up and with who. Most of all, he misses his mother’s advice, her warm words, her hugs, her unshakeable trust, and unconditional love.

He misses everything.

It’s weird, Louis thinks, how he’s lost such a huge part of who he is – his  _family_  - only to finally feel complete in an entirely different way. It’s not better, and it’s not worse. It’s just… different.

Maybe it’s the price of war. 

Sometimes Louis questions whether it was worth it, if he’d do anything differently. But he doesn’t like to dwell on that. It’s pointless either way. He doesn’t regret it, isn’t ashamed either. He just hopes that it worked out for his family as much as it did for him.

Alex gives him a knowing look. 'I'm sure they're fine.' 

He nods slowly, then stares back at him, happy to find comfort in Alex’ green orbs. "They're Tomlinsons. We're fighters, we're smart. We survive. I  _know_  they're fine." 

They both know there's an unsaid _'but unless I find a way to contact them I will never know'_ in that sentence, and Alex squeezes Louis' knee before standing up abruptly. 

'So. When do we leave?' 

Louis frowns at that. "What do you mean, when do we leave?" 

Alex shrugs, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. 'I think post-war France sounds like the perfect summer holiday for two army brothers, wanting to reconnect.' 

He almost lets out a snort, but they've made it this far while referring to each other as brothers in public -  explaining their unusual living situation away by using Louis' nationality. 

"I love you, Highlander," he murmurs, taking Alex' hand and tracing the scar of where a stray bullet had once tried to bury itself in his flesh and skin. 

'Love you too, little frog,' Alex retorts, placing a soft kiss on Louis' lips. 

Maybe Louis’ a frog, and Alex a Highlander – maybe they were once just allies out of convenience and opportunity with different beliefs, and only shared fears.

Now though, they’re equal partners in every aspect, always united – because they choose each other, every single day.

They'll always fight for each other, despite what anyone might tell or want them to do. 

It's written in their hearts and soul - they fight, because they have to, _and_ because they choose to. There is no other way for them and frankly even if there was - Louis wouldn't want it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this fic - it was a challenge for me to write because it was so different from anything I've ever done. Please leave a kudo or comment to let me know what you thought or come find me on Tumblr once authors are revealed :)
> 
> As a sidenote - the Princess Louise thing is real, I didn't make that up (it would be a very specific thing to come up with anyways), you can Google it. The Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders are also known as Princess Louise's Regiment.
> 
>  
> 
> [ If you liked it, you can reblog the fic post here on Tumblr :) ](http://goodmorningtoyouuniverse.tumblr.com/post/172308660269/summary-louis-has-lived-in-dunkirk-for-his-entire)


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